Page 59 of Muerte
I cradled my head in my hands, drawing in deep, deliberate breaths in an attempt to manage a cascade of emotions and playback of memories. The reality of my situation was getting harder to compartmentalize.
The abduction, the events that had transpired since, loomed large in my mind. Alexander. He was a contradiction of epic proportions. His care was as confounding as it was comforting, his control both unsettling and oddly reassuring.
I felt an inexplicable draw towards him offset by a deep-rooted repulsion. I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what had happened to me, but it was impossible to ignore. His sigil was on my back, his name carved into my thigh. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been trying to brand the inside of me too.
I desperately wished for a deeper, more intense hatred towards him. It should’ve come easily.
The hate was somehow muted, watered down. Was there something wrong with me? There had to be. And whatever it was had discord stirring within my chest.
I may have grown up in the system, but I often thought of myself as one of the fortunate ones. I didn't carry the weight of a traumatic past that could easily explain or justify an attraction to someone as inherently twisted as Alexander.
I pondered my feelings, the term 'Stockholm Syndrome' briefly flitting across my mind. Just as quickly, I dismissed it. Did I really fit into that psychological puzzle? Surely, Stockholm Syndrome involved some level of dependency or bonding as a survival strategy, neither of which I felt applied to me. Or did they? The truth was, I didn't have a clear answer. I was doing my best to not bond with my captor.
If I were to fully explore that line of thinking, I feared what it might reveal about me.
After handling my bladder and gently dabbing at myself, I washed my hands and went through the motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face, the simple tasks offering a brief respite. When I was finished, I took a moment to look out the window beyond the tub. The view was no less stunning than it’d been the day before.
The expanse of water served as a natural prison, but it also ignited a determination within me and resolidified my resolve. I needed to hold onto my morality and sense of self—use it as an anchor to ground me and a lifesaver when this place threatened to drown me. I couldn’t ever let it go. Not until I figured out a way to free Anya, and hopefully myself.
I wandered into the closet, thinking of the note he’d left as I perused the array of dresses.
My fingers brushed over the rich fabrics as I searched, settling on a simple floral dress with capped sleeves. After I was dressed, I ran a brush through my hair, leaving it loose. I made my way downstairs, the aroma of food guiding my steps. The large kitchen was alive with activity. Esther and Nicolette were engrossed in culinary endeavors, their easy camaraderie evident as they moved around with practiced efficiency.
There was no one else with them, and I hadn’t spotted anyone on the way down. That meant the usual staff wasn’t back on yet. With their hairstyles and light-colored dresses, they reminded me of two sugar plum fairies. There was a sense of familiarity between them, a dynamic that spoke of shared experiences.
Alexander didn’t seem to think they were friends. I couldn’t tell if they were or rather just worked well together. I cleared my throat to announce my presence, and their attention simultaneously shifted to me.
Esther's eyes lit up with a welcoming smile, appraising my chosen attire with approval.
Nicolette offered a more conservative greeting. I was surprised to see her here. I knew she’d be coming back, but she had to be in pain worse than I was. I refrained from bringing it up, getting the distinct impression that would be the last thing she wanted. We were pretending it had never happened. Got it.
"Good morning," Esther trilled, her tone infused with warmth. "I hope you slept well."
"Morning,” I returned, purposefully not responding to the latter.
“Have a seat. As soon as you’re done eating, we can leave.”
I perched myself on a stool at the island, noting the way Nicolette was watching me as I helped myself to some of the watermelon Esther had just cut up before either of them could attempt to serve me.
“I would’ve gotten that for you,” Esther remarked.
I was instantly reminded of her brother. “I’m perfectly capable of using my own two hands. I appreciate it, though.”
At my words, she and Nicolette shared a look, and then promptly moved everything out of reach. I watched them bemusedly.
“Is it that big of a deal for me to get my own food?”
Nicolette quirked her lips and put a hand on her hip. “Have you forgotten everything we discussed yesterday?”
“That would be impossible.”
“Then you know that the act of serving you is a way for us to express our devotion and loyalty.”
I held my hand up and massaged my brow. “Please don’t start reciting the doctrine. I have a good memory and haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Oh, really?” Esther challenged playfully.
I huffed and straightened on the stool. “The Electi and the bond they have with their Nocturnus Disciples and Luna Vestals is not a relationship of dominance or subjugation, but rather a symbolic connection,” I recited as easily as I would pledging to the flag.